


under the circumstances

by kattyshack



Series: snowflakes [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Confessions, F/M, Flirting, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 18:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12463605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattyshack/pseuds/kattyshack
Summary: prompt fill (@goodqueenalys, from like forever ago): “we’re studying in the library and there are two people very obviously fucking in the stacks nearby.”





	under the circumstances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AliceInNeverNeverLand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInNeverNeverLand/gifts).



> a/n: i’ve been struggling with some major writer’s block/lack of inspiration lately, so this sucker might be a bit rough but i’m trying to get back into my groove here, and i thought a little ditty like this might help. and if i’m going to suffer through another episode of “kat’s patented self-doubt,” i might as well fill an old prompt while i’m at it.

It’s not that Sansa is a prude or that she’s lacking in her sense of sexual liberation or anything, she reasons as she struggles to concentrate under the circumstances (“The Circumstances” being an apropos way to describe what she’s currently enduring, and precisely how she’ll recall the event in future).

But all the same, there is a _time_ and a _place_. And while ten P.M. on a Saturday might be an ideal time to take Marvin Gaye’s advice and “get it on,” doing so in the university library is, frankly, inconsiderate.

Next to her, Jon clears his throat pointedly as the series of moans a few shelves behind their study table increase in volume. _“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,”_ he mutters under his breath, and turns a page of his textbook so violently that it tears.

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters next, a bit louder this time—although not nearly as loud as Harry Hardyng and that cute brunette whose name Sansa doesn’t know, but still she knows the girl deserves better than _Harry_. Everyone deserves better than Harry.

Sansa groans and slumps against the tabletop, and covers her reddening face with her hands. “He’s not even good. She’s faking it so he’ll just finish already and she can get on with her life.”

“I can’t believe you went out with him,” Jon says, gaze still fixed unseeingly on the pages he’s meant to be studying. “I thought he was a useless ponce before, but this is just—Jesus, did you see the way he looked at you when they walked past? Smug bastard. I about flipped the table right at him.”

Sansa peeks at Jon through her fingers so he might catch her grateful smile. He’s looking at her now, turned towards her, elbow braced on the table and chin in his hand. He smiles back, and the corners of his eyes crinkle behind his specs. Sansa’s heart skips.

“My hero,” she chuckles. “A right knight in cotton/polyester blend, you are.”

“Don’t tease,” Jon admonishes, but tweaks her chin all the same.

He’s grown more affectionate with her over the past year. A longtime family friend, Jon Snow knows Sansa Stark’s romantic history as well as anyone else, and as such he’s familiar with her hesitation. But he’s been patient with her, and all the more tender since her breakup with Harry three months ago. Sansa has welcomed it, reveled in it, and she’s probably fallen in love with him a little bit over it, too.

“I can’t help it,” she insists. She nips at his fingertip when he taps her nose. “You’re so easy.”

Jon snorts. “Hardyng’s the easy one.”

“Keep going on about him and I’ll start to think you fancy him,” Sansa warns, albeit teasingly.

Another exaggerated sigh of exaltation breaks the otherwise stuffy library silence, and Jon snorts again.

“Hardly,” he scoffs. “What would I fancy Hardyng for when I’ve got you sitting right in front of me?”

Sansa’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Were it not for the slight blush creeping across Jon’s cheeks, she might think she’d only fantasized his confession. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. But now Jon curls his hand into a fist and presses it against his mouth, looking over his knuckles at her imploringly, endearingly, and too fucking _adorably_ for his own good, and it’s just _good enough_ to be true.

“Shit,” he says when Sansa can’t find the words. “Shit, I mucked that up, didn’t I? Terribly unromantic. I’m shit at romance, Sansa, but I really thought I’d do better than that.”

“Well—” Sansa laughs when Harry’s latest girl fakes her way through an orgasm— “I’ll admit the setting could be better, but you can’t really be blamed for that.”

Jon’s self-loathing groan is disrupted by Harry’s sexually-charged one, which only serves to make Jon mumble another curse. His blush turns from a pleasant pink to beet red, but regardless Sansa doesn’t think he’s ever been more attractive.

“I really, really mucked this up,” he reiterates. He gnaws nervously on his knuckles, and his eyes on hers only implore further—for understanding, acceptance, reciprocation, and Sansa wants to give it all to him.

“No, you didn’t,” Sansa assures him. She takes his hand and smooths her fingers over the bite marks he left behind. She barely suppresses another chuckle while her ex-boyfriend and his new fling have the put-upon time of their lives. “I’ve never been more properly romanced, I swear.”

Jon smiles, and his Adam’s apple bobs when his gaze drops to her lips. His own twitch, and he swipes his tongue across them.

“I’ll do better next time,” he promises.

“Next time?” Sansa echoes. “You plan on confessing that you fancy me more than once?”

“I do.” Jon nods, as if to really drive home his point, and he leans in so close that Sansa need only breathe to catch the scent of his aftershave. His eyes flick from hers to her mouth and back again. “I’ll tell you every day, if you don’t mind, and hopefully under better circumstances than this.”

He caresses the side of her neck before trailing his hand through her hair, tugging her ever closer, and murmurs in the last breath between them, “That alright with you?”

“Yeah,” Sansa says, and her lips brush his when they curve upwards, “yeah, that’s alright with me.”

Harry and his girl are still making a racket in the stacks far too close for comfort, but all the same—under the circumstances, as it were, but Sansa suspects it wouldn’t matter any which way—Jon Snow is unequivocally the best kiss she’s ever had.


End file.
